


American Adventures

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-13
Updated: 2004-03-13
Packaged: 2020-05-15 10:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer





	American Adventures

' _How_ many flavours?' Aziraphale said in a faint, lust-filled voice.

'Thirty-one,' Crowley said, peering at the sign.

Aziraphale giggled like a tipsy school-girl.

 

* * *

 

'Actually, I'm English,' Crowley said. ' _God save our gracious Queen_ ,' he sang, piercingly loud.

Aziraphale eyed the other patrons of the Irish bar nervously.

'Er. _I'm_ all in favour of Home Rule,' he said.

 

* * *

 

'Look, you _can't_ buy any more Happy Meals,' the assistant said to a disappointed Aziraphale. 'The other customers are complaining about the satanic rituals you're performing with the toys.'

'I _told_ you we should have gone to BurgerLord,' Crowley muttered.

 

* * *

 

'Stop pouring maple syrup on your bacon, it's disgusting,' Crowley said.

'That's a bit rich, coming from someone who just dislocated his jaw to get the whole stack of pancakes in at once,' Aziraphale sniffed.

 

* * *

 

'That's _amazing_ ,' Aziraphale said as the wash of water from the orca's jump splashed every Seaworld visitor in the front row except him and Crowley.

'It certainly is,' Crowley said, as the whale took another bite out of the presenter. 'The beauty of nature, eh?'

'Makes me want a spot of lunch,' Aziraphale said ruminatively.

 

* * *

 

'Do you really do sixty-four ounce margaritas?' Crowley asked the waiter, who nodded. 'Fantastic. Bring us two each, and don't let anyone else order them.'

'Sir, normally we have an entire party order just one,' the waiter said uncertainly. 'We're not supposed to sell more than one per table.'

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other and both snapped their fingers under the man's nose. He was a lot more helpful after that.

 

* * *

 

 

'This is piss,' Hastur growled at the bartender, who shrank back fearfully.

'Yeah, horse piss, ackshually,' Ligur said. 'I seen the ads. Big fuckin' horses.'

'I'm sorry, er, gentlemen,' the bartender whispered. 'Can I get you an imported beer, compliments of the house?'

'We ain't _complainin'_ ,' Hastur said and gave the bartender a genial view of his fangs. 'Keep 'em comin'.'


End file.
